I clear my throat. “I’m not jealous. I’m fucking stressed.”
“All the more reason you need some pussy,” he says with a wicked grin. “How about we go to the club tonight? The three of us? You need to relax, buddy. And Zeke … well he’s wound tighter than a coiled spring.”
I sink back in my chair.
“It’s Friday night. Wall-to-wall pussy,” he adds with a chuckle.
I sigh. “Fine. Make the arrangements.”
He winks at me. Cocky fucker. “Consider it done.”
Xander heads out, and I return my focus to the papers on my desk but call out as he reaches the door. “Hey, Fitch.”
He turns, his smile bright, probably because I used his nickname. “Yeah?”
“You look way better with some scruff on your face.”
He barks a laugh and disappears from view.
Chapter
Three
LILY
It’s still raining. Dammit. I stifle a groan as I strap my helmet back on, then take Betty from the bike rack in the lobby. My legs continue to shake after my encounter with West Archer. I almost passed out when I saw those steely gray eyes and square jaw. It’s been fourteen years, but he’s barely changed at all. Well, discounting the fact that he’s now a super successful billionaire. At least he didn’t recognize me, but I was just a little kid the last time he saw me. I had no idea the man responsible for the takeover of the magazine I work for was the same guy who … Long-buried memories invade my consciousness, ascending from the deep recesses of my brain and causing my eyes to swim with unshed tears.
No. I shake my head. I won’t think about it. I won’t think about him.
Betty squeaks in protest as I wheel her through the WXZ tower’s lobby and drags me back to the present. I wipe my eyes and focus on being here right now, in the greatest city in the entire world. “I know, girl. I don’t like the idea of cycling home in this rain either, but we gotta do what we gotta do, yeah?”
She squeaks again, loudly, forcing me to look down at her and check if the chain gave out on me again. “Please don’t give up on me now.” Cycling to Brooklyn in this downpour is still a whole lot better than walking in it.
I’m so focused on Betty that I don’t see the giant mountain of man muscle rounding the corner, and I wheel right into him, then bounce off like he’s made of stone. Betty clatters to the floor, and I fall unceremoniously onto my ass. Ouch!
“Do you always talk to your bike instead of looking where you’re going?” a gruff voice growls at me from above.
“Sorry, I was just—” I finish rubbing my bruised ass cheek and look up at the face of the man I just collided with. Holy mother of all that is divine and holy. Does every man who works in this building look like they fell from heaven, or have I just had the pleasure of meeting the three finest looking men on the face of this earth in the past ten minutes? Is the universe really so cruel that she would do this to me on today of all days, when I resemble a drowned rat and I’m acting like a lunatic who talks to bicycles?
His expression is fierce as he holds my gaze. I can’t look away. I’ve never seen such dark eyes before. They’re not even brown; they’re black. And they smolder like charcoal. Or the darkest pits of hell. A shudder skitters along my spine. Irrational terror grips me, and I’m tempted to call for help, but I can’t tear my gaze from his.
He holds out a hand. I can see it in my peripheral vision, but I don’t take it. My cheeks flame with heat and I’m not sure if it’s entirely because I just fell flat on my ass.
Maybe he sees my fear because his eyes soften just a little. “Are you okay?” His voice is deep and dangerous, but it serves to break the spell he seems to have me under. I blink rapidly and drop my gaze to his outstretched hand, which is almost the size of my head. Black ink snakes from beneath the sleeve of his crisp white shirt and wraps around his knuckles. My heart rate spikes. I catch a glimpse of his Rolex, and the cruel memory of another man who had a fondness for expensive jewelry is more than enough to snap me from my daze.
“Let me help you.” He reaches for my elbow when I don’t take his hand and hauls me up as though I weigh nothing. Heat from his fingertips penetrates through my coat and my sweater. His grip is tight, too tight, but I find myself wishing he’d squeeze harder. I want him to bruise me so I can look at it later and remember those dark eyes and tattooed hands while I …
I shake my head. Bad Lily! “Th-thanks.” I brush the back of my jeans and coat before I risk looking at his face again. He’s still glaring at me. So fucking intense. What the hell, dude? I mean I know I bumped into him, but I figure he barely even felt it. He must be at least six-four, and his shoulders are wider than a linebacker’s. “I’m sorry I crashed into you.”